Fenrir Translations
The nuclear power plant was one of the most complex creations of humanity, and simultaneously, one of the most dangerous places in case of a major accident.
As a result, countless procedures and internal structures emerged that the average person couldn't even begin to comprehend, leading to an immense amount of data that was impossible for a single person to fully grasp. However, as always, knowledge was categorized based on necessity, and for Icarus operatives, the key concern was: "How can we prevent a major accident during combat?"
In a nuclear power plant, a major accident obviously meant a radiation leak.
Or, in the current situation, there was the possibility that Artemis PMC might steal highly radioactive waste and use it like a dirty bomb, though the likelihood of that was low.
While Artemis PMC operated in a world that had partially fallen apart, they weren’t unhinged like escaped convicts or terrorists lacking basic knowledge. On the contrary, they were educated and well-aware of the consequences. They knew that causing such a disaster could harm them as well and potentially turn the entire world against them. Their intelligence wasn’t so low that they’d ignore that possibility.
Thus, the chances of Artemis deliberately causing a meltdown or doing something with high-level radioactive waste were slim. They likely lacked the technology to breach the reactor pressure vessel, and transporting materials emitting radiation in sieverts per hour was nearly impossible.
So, what was the worst thing they could do?
[Alert: The position of the control rods in the reactor does not match the SCRAM procedure.]
"What does that mean?"
"It means people who don’t know what they’re doing are messing with the reactor."
These were people who knew nothing about reactors—people who could shoot guns, maybe fiddle with some tactical manuals and basic machinery, but who were now trying to tamper with one of the pinnacles of human technology, a nuclear power plant.
It wasn’t hard to understand their motivation. The power generated by the plant was highly coveted. If they could manage to operate even one reactor properly, they could have enough electricity to last decades, drowning in energy.
But, conversely, it was impossible that such amateurs could fully operate a facility of this scale just by tampering with it.
It was time to give these guys a serious wake-up call.
"We’re heading to the backup power facility. Even if the enemies mess something up, as long as we have backup power, we can initiate an emergency shutdown. But if we lose that too... well, nothing good will happen."
"Then we need to move quickly."
"Exactly."
Leaving the parking lot, they proceeded into the inner grounds of the nuclear power plant.
Long skid marks on the asphalt led the way, and about 20 meters ahead, at what looked like the entrance to a containment building, a heavily armed UTV was parked haphazardly.
The vehicle had futuristic, tactical-looking armor plates, holographic panels on the front, and a bizarre Artemis-manufactured triple-barrel grenade launcher mounted on top. The launcher boasted an insane rate of fire, thanks to the partially integrated Metal Storm technology.
The backup power facility was located about a few hundred meters away on the shore of Lake Ontario—on the complete opposite side from their current location.
"Wow, this vehicle doesn’t even have a back seat."
"The back is where they store the armored grenade canisters. It’s designed for fire support rather than transporting troops. You sit on the sides except for the driver and passenger seats."
She gave the vehicle a kick before adding:
"There will be a lot of enemies, so I’ll handle the grenade launcher. Just drive. The route will show up on your UI automatically."
"What? I barely passed my driving test! We might flip over!"
"It’s just 600 meters. Get in already!"
Simultaneously, she climbed into the passenger seat and took control of the vehicle.
With the lens synchronized to the grenade launcher’s sights, she could now rotate it 360 degrees just by thinking about it. After quickly overriding the Icarus OS, the Artemis IFF system registered in the vehicle was switched to identify them as enemies.
In other words, the IFF tags on the PMC personnel, designed to prevent friendly fire, were now tools marking them for death.
Red triangles indicating enemy positions popped up everywhere, representing about 1.5 companies’ worth of troops. Normally, avoiding engagement would be the best strategy, but now was the time to draw attention.
The UTV’s entire rear section had been converted into a 40mm grenade canister, holding a total of 81 rounds—more than enough to wreak havoc.
"Hit the gas!"
"I don’t care what we crash into!"
───Vrrrrrrm!
As expected from a tactical vehicle, even the noise was minimized.
It sped down the asphalt, the scenery blurring as red dots grew closer, and the Artemis comms network exploded with confused chatter.
The distance to their destination quickly closed, but so did the gap between them and the enemy.
Dublin 1-2, where the hell are you going!?
There was no need to answer.
The reason was simple:
Boom!
"Aaah!"
"Damn it, HQ! We’re under attack! The Dublin 1-2 vehicle has been hijacked!"
Thunk-thunk-thunk.
Three grenades shot through the air, showcasing the power and lethality of the technology packed into the UTV. In an instant, a strike team including a UGV was blown to pieces before their eyes.
The screams coming through the comms were crystal clear, and by the time they reached the halfway point to their destination, they’d already wiped out a significant number of enemies. The 600 meters that would have been a long walk became a short drive, and more enemies started appearing behind them.
Adjusting the angle of the grenade launcher, Yujin fired at the PMC forces closing in from behind. Harmony glanced over, looking a bit envious.
"I want to shoot grenades too..."
"I’ll drive next time."
Only then did Harmony’s expression brighten.
She was easy to read.
But despite her newfound happiness, the chaos around them hadn’t abated. Her face quickly contorted again as more enemies emerged from their destination.
Yujin hurriedly turned the grenade launcher and fired in that direction. However, this meant she had to pay less attention to the enemies chasing them from behind.
Boom!
"Whoa!"
"Hold the wheel tight!"
A rocket launcher fired by the enemy struck nearby, causing the vehicle to shake violently.
Though Yujin continued to fire grenades, the vehicle’s vibrations made it harder to aim accurately. They were surrounded, both in front and behind, and the situation was far from ideal. Amidst the chaos, Harmony, now in a state of panic, spoke up in a voice full of emotion.
"Teacher! The brakes aren’t working!"
"It must have been damaged by that last hit. Harmony, do you see a car ahead?"
"Yes! Should I ram it?"
"You catch on quick."
Brakes are just tools for slowing down.
So, as long as they could reduce their speed, it didn’t matter how they did it.
The 600-meter stretch was too short to be traversed by vehicle, and the armed buggy’s acceleration was outstanding. Even if they tried another approach, they wouldn’t make it in time—so they sped straight toward their destination, plowing through the enemies standing in their way.
Crash!
"Ugh!"
"Hold on tight!"
An enemy soldier who was in their path was sent flying as the vehicle collided with him. The speed decreased slightly but not enough to matter.
With a massive jolt and a burst of momentum, the vehicle rammed into another one that had reached the backup power facility ahead of them. After advancing several more meters, it finally came to a stop, all while continuing to bombard the gathering Artemis grunts with grenades.
Yujin let out a small sigh and shook Harmony’s shoulder, who was halfway to being in shock.
"Get up. We’re here."
"Teacher..."
"Yes?"
"If there’s another chance like this, I’m not driving."
"...Okay."
Anyway, being an operator was definitely a tough job.
Competitions were not only battlegrounds for countless professional gamers who had prepared for that day but also a grand festival that everyone could enjoy.
Especially when it was a massive global event in a single category, viewers could enjoy a myriad of events right up until the final matches concluded.
Naturally, everything was overseen by Icarus International.
From server management and operations to organizing events, external promotions, official talks with pro gaming teams, in-game events, various quizzes, managing the hired broadcasters, royalties, and coordinating with Icarus branches in other countries....
The sheer scale of what was happening under the name of the competition was beyond what one person could comprehend, let alone enumerate.
Even though the Asian qualifiers and KSM match group hadn’t started yet, the popularity of the event was exponentially growing each year, still at the stage where the fuse was burning down.
Amidst all this, it was only natural that countless viewers had different people they were cheering for. There were ten AP pro teams alone, and combining just their active first-string players, there were over 100 professionals.
For those not invested in the scene, it might seem like there were endless names they didn’t recognize, but that was because so many pros were active—each one being the vanguard promoted by their respective teams.
These players' popularity was further accelerated, whether through their teams' efforts or Icarus International's recognition of their skills, fame, and potential.
One way this was done was by compiling basic profiles of the pro players, either through direct team funding or at Icarus International's request.
But that wasn’t all. Through interviews and other means, they answered fans' questions and drew more attention. The opportunities were endless.
However...
"…Does this person even care about the tournament?"
There were always exceptions.
As mentioned multiple times, the tournament covered such a vast and expansive scope that it was almost inevitable for some details to slip through the cracks.
Yujin, however, was too significant to be forgotten or overlooked. She was mentioned several times daily, her fame spreading widely.
But conversely, being talked about also meant she needed to be remembered. Even someone like Yujin could occasionally get lost amidst the flurry of activity.
Regardless, her presence was enormous.
Countless viewers eagerly awaited information about Yujin, even Icarus’s PR team.
It wasn’t just a matter of users contacting the branch; an entire branch was organizing schedules for a single user, indicating how important she was.
But the world doesn’t always go the way people want.
Icarus staff were struggling to secure her pre-tournament interview.
[Who has received a reply email from Yujin?]
ㄴ[Sent it, but no response yet.]
ㄴ[Same here ㅠㅠ]
ㄴ[She seems to be streaming fine, but I don’t think she’s checked her email yet.]
ㄴ[Oh, lol.]
Naturally, no one could resort to force in such a situation.
A player’s schedule had to be respected, and it was their responsibility to manage it. This was a given, and there was nothing more to be done.
Those who were disappointed were usually the users, not the branch. If individuals didn’t manage their contacts, the loss was theirs.
But as the situation leaned more towards disappointment on the branch’s side, it led to a strange chain of events, turning into an unforeseen predicament for them.
Of course, it hadn’t been too long since they sent the email, but anticipation was inevitable.
Specifically, to the point where such posts appeared on the company’s intranet due to the lack of a quick response.
'The stream is fun, but…'
The only ones who didn’t need to worry about the situation were the temporarily assigned monitoring team.
They didn’t watch her every move.
They were more like a failsafe—monitoring in case she missed something important, ready to relay that information via donations or other methods.
In simple terms, some employees were reassigned to work as viewers of Yujin’s stream during their off-hours or before their shifts.
[When’s the deadline for Yujin’s pre-interview?]
ㄴ[About a day left?]
ㄴ[It might already be a bit late; considering all the attention she’s gotten, the interview feels a bit overdue.]
ㄴ[Whoa.]
It wasn’t surprising.
One of the monitoring team members opened a pop-up to check today’s stream schedule. It was filled with main mission grinding. In between, there were two 30-minute gaps, coinciding with the preliminary rank session times.
In short, unlike other pro gamers who practiced or scrimmed before matches, she casually grinded the main missions before joining the competition.
It was so typical of her—bold, even.
Yujin’s streaming schedule had recently become quite irregular, with her often starting a stream already in the middle of playing Dark Zone. Today was no different.
At the bottom of the schedule, Just Chatting was listed.
At a time that wouldn’t disrupt the stream, the team was ready to relay any missed information via donations or other methods.
All they could do was wait and quietly watch the screen.
Meanwhile, of course...
"Be careful with your shots. If you hit the backup power supply, it’ll break."
"Wow, not being able to shoot properly when needed is even harder than usual fights…!"
"That’s how it goes. Nothing’s ever easy."
But regardless of the chaos, they were always in control.